


Forest Love

by hollyhobbit101



Series: Gendrya fics [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Falling In Love, Gendrya Big Bang, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by BBC's Robin Hood, Love Confessions, Robin Hood AU, gendry is in the brotherhood, gendrya big bang 2020, idiots to lovers, night watchman!arya, set in the riverlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: Sometimes, Gendry really hates his life.Most of it’s not so bad. He spends his days in the forest with the Brotherhood, stealing from any wealthy lord who happens across their path and aiding the resistance against Sheriff Joffrey in any way they can.And then he meets Arya Stark, alias the Night Watchman, and he's set on a path that could bring the end of everything they all know.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Gendrya fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1354420
Comments: 46
Kudos: 124





	1. three meetings

**Author's Note:**

> so excited to introduce my gendrya big bang submission! updates, hopefully, will be every two days.
> 
> characters are aged up so arya is 18 in this. 
> 
> many thanks to my wonderful beta randifrnz!

Sometimes, Gendry  _ really  _ hates his life.

Most of it’s not so bad. He spends his days in the forest with the Brotherhood, stealing from any wealthy lord who happens across their path and aiding the resistance against Sheriff Joffrey in any way they can. Things used to be different, back when Robert was alive, but that was years ago now. Oh, the poor were still poor, and the rich were still rich, but at least there was peace. At least Robert’s men didn’t delight in torturing their people like Joffrey’s do. 

The Brotherhood helps against that, or tries to. Mostly, they just distribute their stolen gold and food to neighbouring villages or interrupt a Lannister plot every now and then. Joffrey is still sheriff and Tywin Lannister still terrorises the Riverlands, but Gendry likes to think they’re making a difference. Besides, the stealing is agreeable enough; these lords are the reason his mother died, the reason he had to abandon any prospects he himself might have had. It’s justice, he thinks.

And, Sherwood is fine - good, even - and the others are decent men, Beric especially. He used to be one of them, but too many times on the Lannisters’ wrong side almost got him killed. Gendry, too - his work as a blacksmith’s apprentice earned him a pittance, and he hadn’t been careful enough when he was forced to steal bread to survive.

Beric saved his life, brought him back to the forest along with a few others. He’s an outlaw, sentenced to death if he’s ever caught, but it’s been so long now that Gendry’s starting to think they never will be. 

Life is good. Better than it was before, really; Sherwood is freeing like that.

But then there are days like this one. Days when he’s pretty sure that the gods, if they exist, have it out for him personally. Days that threaten to take away everything he’s fought so hard to keep.

It starts out fairly normal.

He’s tasked with keeping watch where the River Road intersects the forest. Beric had caught wind some days since that Tywin’s personal carriage would pass through. The others are camped out not too far away, waiting for Gendry’s signal to go. 

He’s been crouched in the bushes overlooking the road for almost two hours when he hears the rattle of a carriage approaching from the west. He sticks his head out as far as he dares, spying a Lannister man on the horizon. He takes a couple of paces back into the forest to whistle for the others.

Then the tip of a sword presses into his back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He freezes, breathing shallowly, then turns slowly, trying not to agitate the man holding the sword. He doesn’t understand how he managed to sneak up on him; the forest is carpeted in leaves, making it a near impossible feat to walk quietly.

The first thing he notices is the sword pointed at his chest. It’s strangely small, thin enough that he thinks he’d probably be able to snap it over his knee if he were so inclined. It’s expertly crafted, the kind of thing that only someone incredibly wealthy could afford, and he recognises the mark. One of the northern blacksmiths, if he remembers correctly. Which means…

_ Fuck. _

There’s a story going around the Riverlands, one that had begun circulating around two years ago. They tell of a masked man, ruthless and quick, who stalks the roads and pathways for his victims, killing them and robbing them of their coin. No-one who has met the wrong end of his sword has survived to tell of it, the stories coming from the villages where he’s said to distribute the spoils.

The Night Watchman, they call him, for he only appears at night, for the most part. The stories tend to disagree on his identity - some say he’s like Beric, a lord run afoul of the law. Others say he’s a peasant who stole his weapons from his master before running away.

Either way, they all agree on one thing - his only weapons are a strange, northern sword, and a Valyrian steel dagger, the last left of its kind.

Gendry’s eyes drop to the man’s belt - sure enough, the dagger is there - and his mouth goes dry as he looks to his face. It’s mostly covered by a mask, only his eyes just barely visible under his hood. They’re a steely grey, cold and unnerving. 

He slowly raises his hands, not wanting to take any chances. This Night Watchman might be shorter than him, and skinnier to boot, but Gendry’s under no illusions that he’d be able to best him. 

The movement shifts his shirt, and the man's eyes instantly go to his collar, widening almost imperceptibly. His sword creeps towards Gendry’s neck. He tries not to flinch, but the tip just hooks around the leather strap of his amulet, pulling it into view. 

They all have one, every member of the Brotherhood; Gendry had carved them himself. It’s a simple design, the lightning and stars of Beric’s House, when he was still a lord. 

“You’re one of the Brotherhood,” he breathes, and though it doesn’t sound like an accusation, Gendry’s immediately on the defensive.

“And you’re the Night Watchman,” he throws back, daring to fold his arms. They’re caught in a brief stand-off until, to Gendry’s surprise, the other man shrugs and sheaths his sword. 

“Got any food?” he asks. “I’m starving.”

Gendry has no other option but to lead him back through the forest towards their camp. Beric’ll probably kill him for bringing someone as dangerous as the Night Watchman back - or, if he doesn’t, Thoros certainly will - but the man’s tone hadn’t been a request. Besides, Gendry gets the feeling that he would have just followed him anyway.

The temporary camp, where the others had been waiting for Gendry’s signal, soon comes into view.

“No luck? We -” Anguy trails off as he sees who Gendry’s with, instinctively reaching for his weapons. The Night Watchman’s hands go to his own belt, too, and the rest of the Brotherhood jump up, bows and swords in hands.

The Night Watchman just raises an eyebrow and drops his sword belt to the ground. “I’m not here to fight,” he says. “But I’m sure you know who I am, so I should caution you against raising your blade to me.”

Three of Gendry’s brothers turn red with rage, but their protests are cut short by Beric raising a hand and walking over to the pair of them.

“Then to what do we owe this pleasure, Ser,” he asks. “And, what is so pressing that you felt the need to disrupt our mission?”

There’s a hint of anger in Beric’s voice, but the Night Watchman doesn’t flinch. “I’m here for food, and your mission was a fools’ errand. There was no gold on that carriage,” he says. “And I’m no Ser.”

Beric exchanges a glance with Thoros and turns back to the Night Watchman. “How do you know there was nothing there?”

The man’s eyes suddenly look guilty, and he fidgets as though about to bolt. “Food, if you please.”

Beric sighs and hands over the remaining half of a rabbit that had been roasting on the fire. The Night Watchman lingers for a second after taking it, before turning and running on silent feet, much to the annoyance of the Brotherhood.

“Not even a ‘thank you’,” one of them grumbles. The others murmur in agreement, conversing lowly.

Gendry pays them no heed. The Night Watchman is long since disappeared into the forest, but he can’t stop staring after him, turning over the day’s events in his mind. There’s something not right about him, Gendry’s sure of it.

He just wishes he could figure out exactly what.

* * *

Gendry had thought they’d never meet again, but not even a moon’s turn later he comes across a figure bathing in the stream. He’s about to avert his eyes and retreat without being seen, but there’s something familiar about the person. And -  _ oh _ .

“You’re a woman,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself.

The Night Watchman whips around, knife in her left hand -  _ how the fuck did she get that so quickly? - _ the other reaching up to cover her chest. 

“Who the fuck are you?” she snaps, glaring at him. If there were any doubt to her identity before, it’s gone now. Gendry would remember those eyes anywhere.

He pulls his amulet out from under his shirt, praying that this works. “I’m part of the Brotherhood.”

“Just because you’re one of those idiots, doesn’t mean I won’t run you through,” she threatens, but she’s already lowering her blade. “Turn around.”   
  


Gendry gapes at her. “What?”

“You heard me.” Then, when Gendry doesn’t move, she sighs. “I could have killed you ten different ways already, stupid. Don’t you think if I wanted you dead, you would be?”

Gendry hesitates a moment longer, but he can’t argue with that. Anyway, he thinks that if he doesn’t turn around, she might change her mind and make good on her threat. He turns his back, though his instincts are screaming at him to look and make sure she’s not coming to kill him. 

There’s a splash and some rustling, then the forest goes quiet. He wonders if she’s gone and disappeared without telling him and is about to turn and check when her sword once again presses into his back.

“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead,” she whispers, breath tickling the back of Gendry’s neck. He nods. Then she’s gone, already swallowed by the trees by the time he looks after her.

* * *

Some months later, long enough that he has accepted that they will never cross paths again, Gendry is strangely disappointed by the thought. 

He’s not sure what about her intrigues him so; it’s not her looks - though she  _ is  _ beautiful - but there’s something about her that makes him want to know more. Who she is, how she came to be living this life, why she never killed him even though she had ample opportunity. 

He keeps an eye out for her in the forest, but he never spots her. He hates the disappointment he feels every time, but then the days stretch into weeks and then into months. Slowly, he stops looking. 

They met by chance, and Gendry’s under no illusion that she particularly wants to be found by him again.

They say the third time’s the charm; if they meet for a third time, he thinks that she really will kill him.

So, when someone stumbles into their camp one morning just as the dawn light is filtering through the trees, the last person Gendry expects to see is the Night Watchman, mask gone, barely holding herself upright. Yet, there she is.

He stares at her in shock, eyes travelling from her pale, drawn face to the bloodstained hand clutching onto a tree to where her other hand lies against her abdomen, which Gendry realises with mounting horror is the source of the blood. She sways dangerously, finally spurring him into action to catch her just before she hits the dirt. He scoops her up into his arms, carrying her to the pile of rags he’d been lying on, yelling at Thoros to get up.

“The fuck you howling at?” Thoros grumbles, but he stops short when he sees her. “That’s -”

“The Night Watchman, yes,” Gendry interrupts, impatient.

“I was going to say ‘a woman’.” Thoros shakes his head and takes a swig from his skin. “Fuck.”

When he doesn’t stop staring, Gendry sighs and snatches the wineskin, ignoring Thoros’s protests. 

“Help her.”

Thoros glares, but he kneels next to her anyway. “You’re lucky it’s too early for me to want to kill you.”

The others have all gathered around, and Gendry can hear them muttering. He ignores them, anxiously watching Thoros work. Logically, he knows it’s going to be fine; Thoros is the best healer around. He’s brought Beric back from the edge of death far too many times than should be allowed. Even if there’s no real reason for him to be this way, he can’t help but worry.

It’s just. She’s impressive, and he can’t deny his own curiosity over who she is. Besides, she spared his life twice. He should thank her for that, at least.

It’s another hour before Thoros gruffly proclaims that she’ll live, but she sleeps for the rest of the day. When night comes, Gendry elects to take first watch - he’s not planning on sleeping anyway. He’s not sure he could even if he wanted to. The others are only too glad to let him; the early awakening had none of them feeling too kindly towards him, and they all wanted to sleep.

He situates himself underneath a tree at the edge of camp, where he can not only keep an eye out for any enemies, but also still see the Night Watchman. Her colour has improved a lot since this morning, though she’s still too pale. At least she’s breathing. He’s still confused over why she even came here, but he supposes it’s just another thing to add to the list.

It’s a cloudless night and the moon is full, a combination that Gendry’s sure the priests would have something to say about. He left religion behind a long time ago, as did many of the men in their little band, but he can admit that there is something...heavenly about the sight of a full moon, for want of a better word. Still, he doesn’t believe any gods had anything to do with it; it’s just something beautiful that’s too far away for people to touch.

A noise off to his right drags him out of his thoughts. He turns to see the Night Watchman hauling herself to her feet. Any other night, any other time, he’s sure he would have missed it, such is her ability to move unheard, but her injury is clearly impeding her. Even so, she’s doing a good job at keeping quiet, but it’s not enough. He watches her for a while, then stands, making his way over to her, concern winning out over his good sense.

He makes little effort to keep his movements silent and she quickly spots him, swearing softly. 

“I’m fine,” she says, though she winces as she straightens.

“Clearly,” he says dryly, earning himself a glare. “You should stay with us for a while. At least until you’re healed.”

“I don’t need you. Any of you.”

“I know.  _ We  _ probably need  _ you _ , truth be told,” he replies. “These lot are all good fighters, but from what I’ve heard, you’d trump any of us.”

She snorts but doesn’t make any move to back down. “I’m still not staying.”

It would be easy, Gendry thinks, to just give up. To stand aside and let her disappear on him again, because gods know she could make him if he refused. But Gendry’s stubborn, always has been, and he’s more than prepared to let it get him into just that little bit more trouble.

“Why not?” he challenges, folding his arms.

“Why should I?”

“We can help you.” And, it’s probably the stupidest thing he could have come out with, given what they said just seconds ago, but it’s all he’s got. She scoffs and makes to push past him, and, without thinking, Gendry grabs her arm. She jerks away from him and he immediately backs away, hands held high, realising his mistake. 

“We can help you,” he repeats quietly, eyes pleading with her. 

She searches his face and then purses her lips. “How?” she demands, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

“You hate Joffrey as much as we do, right?”

“More,” she spits, and there’s so much venom behind it that it takes Gendry aback for a moment.

“Right,” he starts uncertainly. “Okay. Listen, Beric - I think he’s planning something. There’s talk that Joffrey’s hold on Riverrun isn’t as strong as he thinks it is; the people are apparently two seconds from killing him themselves. If we time it right, we can -”

“What?” she interrupts. “Storm the castle? You wouldn’t make it five yards.”

Gendry’s more than a little irritated by the certainty and disdain in her voice. What does she know, he wonders. Certainly nothing about the Brotherhood, if she thinks they’d be so stupid. But he doesn’t want to fight her; he knows that would only drive her away.

“Fine,” he sighs, relenting. He moves, as if to let her pass. “If you don’t want to help us, if you want to leave as soon as possible and forget we ever existed - go. But you should stay, at least until it’s light. You’re still wounded, and it’s not like anything’s going to happen anyway. At least this way you’ll get food.”

“I can hunt for myself,” she says, but he can tell she’s considering it. 

“Come on. Harwin can roast up a mean squirrel.” He means it as a joke, but as soon as the words leave his lips, her back goes ramrod straight and her face seems to pale, though it is difficult to tell with only the light of the moon. 

“What did you say?” she hisses, looking seconds from running him through.

He tries to maintain a level of calm, even as he wonders what in the seven hells he did to earn her anger this time. He can understand her reactions the previous two times they met, extreme though they seemed, but this time…

And, doesn’t it say something to his self-preservation that he’s managed to provoke the same woman three times? Not that it’s ever been his fault, but.

“Nothing,” he says eventually. “Just a joke, is all.”

She scrutinises him for a moment more before some of the tension leaves her. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

He’d be lying if he said her sudden agreement doesn’t make him suspicious, but he tries to ignore it. “Good. That’s - That’s good. I’m Gendry, by the way.” He goes to extend a hand, then immediately retracts it, thinking she’d probably ignore it anyway. “Thanks for, you know. Not killing me. Before. And the time before that. And now.”

She smirks a little, then takes a moment to size him up. “Arry,” she says eventually, and it takes him a second to realise that she’s giving him her name. Or, something to call her by, anyway; he’s not convinced it’s her true name. 

Still, it’s nice to have something to put to the face under the mask. It’s reassuringly human. And as Gendry drifts to sleep at the end of his watch, he allows himself a small smile, wondering if he’s finally unravelling the mystery of the Night Watchman.


	2. capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She - Arry - is still there come morning, still sitting under her tree and watching the Brotherhood closely. The Night Watchman, indeed.

She - Arry - is still there come morning, and Gendry has to admit to more than a little surprise. He’d dozed off not long after their talk, and he wouldn’t have put it past her to take the opportunity to sneak off. 

But, she’s still here, still sitting under her tree and watching the Brotherhood closely. Gendry snorts. The Night Watchman, indeed. Her cloak is pulled tight around her despite the warmth of the morning, and he doesn’t fail to notice her weapons lying close at hand. The others are all gathered around the fire, sharing whatever slop Harwin’s managed to cook up this time. She makes no sign of moving to get any herself. Gendry considers for a moment, then sighs and grabs an extra bowl lying around on a rock, filling it up along with his own and heading over to her.

He sets the bowl down in front of her and settles himself a metre or so away to eat his own breakfast. She watches him suspiciously for a while then, apparently deciding it won’t kill her, reaches for the bowl, devouring the contents like she hasn’t eaten in a week.

Which, Gendry realises, isn’t altogether impossible.

“Thanks,” she says when she’s done, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Yeah, no problem.” Gendry hesitates, then sets his own bowl aside and shuffles closer. “Listen -”

But he’s interrupted by the sound of crashing coming through the trees as Lem bursts into their camp.

“Sheriff's men!” he shouts. “Tyrion Lannister’s with them!”

The camp bursts into action, meals forgotten as they scramble to prepare. Gendry turns to Arry, only to see she’s already got her weapons strapped to her belt and is affixing her masks to her face.

“Joining us, then?” he asks, half-joking, though, judging by the glare she sends him, she isn't amused. 

Before he can say anything else, Arry takes off into the forest, leaving Gendry and the Brotherhood behind. He sighs, disappointed, but he doesn’t have time to think about it too hard as they head off to intercept Lannister themselves. 

The carriage comes into view as they reach the treeline; it’s fallen into one of their traps, and one of the wheels has splintered. Jack grins over at Gendry, the trap having been their idea.

Their attention is quickly drawn back to Beric, who’s surveying the situation intently.

“Taxes,” he pronounces, pointing to a gap in the carriage’s curtains, through which they can just about see the gleam of coins. “Looks like Joffrey’s upped them again.”

“Shocker,” Anguy mutters. Gendry is inclined to agree with him.

The corners of Beric’s mouth twitch almost imperceptibly and he hums in what Gendry takes to be agreement. “Alright,” he says. “You all know what to do. Anguy, fire a warning shot.”

All of a sudden, an arrow sprouts from the neck of the soldier closest to them, and he drops to the ground, quickly followed by two of his comrades. They all turn to look at Anguy, but his bow is still strung. He’s as confused as the rest of them. Besides which, the angle is all wrong for it to have come from their side. 

They don’t have to wonder for long who fired the shots. A small, masked figure darts out of the treeline a few feet away from the Brotherhood, making quick work of the remaining two guards. Gendry should be horrified by it, really, the way she dispatches them without mercy, but he finds he’s just fascinated instead. The killing, with her, looks almost like an art, quick and brutal though it is. 

She disappears out of sight behind the carriage, which begins to rock with signs of a commotion, before quickly reappearing, dragging Tyrion Lannister along with her, a knife to his throat. Beric swears - a rare occurrence - then leads them out of the bushes, scrambling down to the road and to Arry. 

“The fuck are you doing, Watchman,” Thoros growls. Beric sends him a look, imploring his patience, but he’s angry too, Gendry can tell. 

The mask obscures Arry’s face, but she radiates nonchalance. “The fuck does it look like?” she counters. “Way I see it, I’m saving you fools a lot of time and trouble. If you’d done it your way, this one would be on his way back to Riverrun and the poor you claim to help would just be punished again for your incompetence.”

His brothers look furious and Gendry himself is bristling at her words, no matter how much they ring true. She’s right, this kind of stuff  _ has  _ happened before, a guard or two making it back to warn Joffrey, but it’s not like they don’t try to limit the fallout. 

(He refuses to think about the villages that have banned the Brotherhood from visiting because of all the trouble they’ve caused.)

(He  _ definitely  _ doesn’t think about the fact that his own village is one of them.)

Beric steps forward, putting himself between Arry and their men. “We’re wasting time,” he says. “I know a place not far from here where we can go. No-one will find us there.” He looks to Arry. “Bring him.”

The others mutter, but they respect Beric and follow his lead, trudging back into the forest. Gendry hangs back, watching to make sure Arry follows them, but she’s not moving, instead looking back and forth between the bodies and Tyrion Lannister.

Eventually, she glances up, and gives him an almost impatient look when she spots him staring - though that might be her general irritation with them. It’s difficult to tell with the mask. His brothers are scattered between Gendry and the treeline, looking no less impatient, and Thoros in particular is turning an ugly shade of purple.

“Come and help me,” she says, as though he should have been doing so five minutes ago. Gendry sighs, but goes over, finding his arms suddenly full of Tyrion Lannister as she shoves him over. 

“Hold him.” Then she’s taking her blade to one of the dead soldier’s clothes, tearing away long strips from his cloak. She undoes his belt, considering his sword for a moment before setting it aside and coming over to Gendry, belt and cloth in hand. The belt goes around Lannister’s wrists, cutting into the skin perhaps a little more than necessary, but Gendry’s not about to complain about  _ that _ .

The strips of torn-off cloak go over his mouth and eyes and, after ensuring that Lannister is completely blind, Arry tears off her masks and hood.

“Couldn’t fucking breathe,” she grumbles, sticking the masks into her belt. Then, gesturing into the forest with her knife, “Let’s go.”

Gendry throws Lannister over his shoulder, lest he attempt to escape. They resume their trek through Sherwood, following Beric’s lead to a clearing a mile or so from the road. He looks back to Gendry and Arry and then points to a rock formation at the edge of the area. “Bring him over here. Lem, Harwin, Jack, go back to the wagon and collect the coin. The rest of you, keep watch.”

Arry gapes, but follows Gendry as he heads over to the rocks Beric and Thoros have now disappeared behind. “I thought he said no-one would find us here?” she demands, keeping her voice low to protect her identity. “This is one of the most open places in the forest! We’ll be lucky if -”

Arry’s protests die on her lips as they round the rocks, which reveal themselves to conceal the entrance to a cave running beneath the clearing. Though truth be told, he hadn’t known about this place either, Gendry finds he immensely enjoys the look of outraged surprise on her face.

He dares to lean closer to her. “Still think we’re fools?” he murmurs. 

She punches him.

A flare of light further into the cave interrupts their bickering. Beric’s holding a torch which now illuminates the cave, casting long shadows across the ground and walls. Gendry and Arry advance to meet them, Gendry’s eyes widening as he sees the pole sticking out of the ground close to the back of the cave. He’d mistook it for a tree root at first but now that he’s closer it’s clear that it was placed here, the wood too smooth, too polished for it to be anything but man-made.

“It’s from Aerys’s time,” Thoros explains, strangely sombre. “When he was king, he had places like this all over Westeros, hidey-holes where he and those loyal to him could bring some of his more...rebellious subjects. They’d be tortured, or sometimes just left to starve, but these places haven’t been used since his death. Very few people know of their existence; even fewer know any locations.”

Beric purses his lips, producing a rope. “We don’t have time to waste,” he reminds them. 

Gendry deposits Lannister by the pole, holding him against it whilst Beric secures him with knots so intricate that no-one could escape. At Beric’s say-so, Gendry goes to remove the gag and blindfold. He hesitates a moment, glancing back at Arry. Her masks are back on and the way she’s holding herself casts an imposing figure despite her diminutive stature, especially in the flickering light of the torch.

She nods at him tightly, and so Gendry turns back to Lannister, pulling the cloth from his face.

Lannister blinks, his eyes adjusting to the low light of the cave. His gaze flicks from one face to another, and Gendry feels almost naked under its weight. He’s being ridiculous, he thinks, but he can’t help but feel unnerved.

Eventually, Lannister sighs. “The Brotherhood  _ and  _ the Night Watchman,” he says, one eyebrow quirked in idle intrigue, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “What have I done to deserve such an honour? My father would be so proud.”

“Hush up, Lannister,” Thoros growls, but Lannister ignores him.

“Thoros of Myr,” he says. “You look old. Though, I daresay even the best of us would age prematurely if they crouched in caves all day.”

Thoros looks ready to murder him but Beric catches his arm, holding him back with a firm grip. Lannister appears unperturbed, as though he anticipated the entire thing.

“Beric Dondarrion,” he continues. “I thought Ser Gregor killed you some time ago. Twice, if rumour is to be believed.”

“Perhaps you ought to put less stock in rumours, my Lord,” Beric counters.

“So it would seem.” Lannister’s eyes slide over to Gendry. “You, I don’t know, though there’s something familiar about you. Come to think of it, you look more like my sister’s dear late husband than her children do. You wouldn’t happen to be one of Robert’s bastards, would you?”

Gendry clenches his jaw, all discomfort forgotten. As far as he’s concerned, he only had one parent; he cares little for whoever his sorry excuse for a father is.

Lannister snorts. “Stubborn as Robert, too, I see. Ah well. The man had bastards all over the country, I was bound to run into one eventually.” Then, his gaze lands on the final member of their group, and for the first time he actually appears interested. “I’ve heard lots about you, Watchman. You’re smaller than I pictured, though I suppose that’s a little rich coming from me.”

Arry doesn’t move a muscle, save for her hand twitching almost imperceptibly towards her sword. Lannister clearly notices the movement but, if anything, it only seems to spur him on.

“You’ve given my father quite the run-around, you know. I feel I must thank you; it’s been quite entertaining to watch, though my father is a particularly unpleasant man when things don’t go his way. And that’s to say nothing of Joffrey -”

Faster than any of them can comprehend, Arry flashes forward. Lannister’s head  _ cracks  _ against the pole and his throat is once again at the mercy of Arry’s knife. The cave goes still, silent but for the distant chirping of birds. 

And then, inexplicably, Thoros begins to laugh. “You talk too much, Lannister,” he says. “Seems our friend the Watchman has less patience than I do.”

Lannister’s mouth opens to reply, only to immediately snap shut as Arry’s blade presses deeper into his neck, just enough that blood begins to bead onto the dagger. It’s this that seems to break the spell over them as Beric clears his throat, stepping forward.

“Perhaps we ought to address the matter at hand,” he suggests. “Alone.”

Arry’s head snaps up at his words, fury radiating from every inch of her, but Beric opts to ignore her this time.

“Gendry, perhaps you and our friend here can check on the others? See how they’re getting on unloading that wagon.”

Gendry nods but doesn’t move, waiting for Arry. She glances between Beric and Lannister for several long moments, seeming like she’s weighing her options - what those options might be, Gendry is afraid to wonder. Eventually, she apparently decides, standing and stalking out of the cave without looking back.

Gendry leaves behind her in just enough time to see her disappearing into the trees. He sighs, frustrated. He’s relatively confident she won’t go far, not while they’ve got Lannister, but he thinks going after her now would be a mistake. She probably would kill him this time. So, he goes to head back to the wagon like Beric instructed, not particularly relishing the idea of the trek there and back.

For once, though, he has some luck. Harwin and Jack are just coming over the ridge, hauling a heavy box between them. Gendry goes to meet them, smirking at their exhausted faces.

“Where’s Lem?” he asks, grabbing a waterskin from the ground and handing it to Jack. 

“Guarding the wagon,” Harwin replies, raising an eyebrow as Jack practically dumps water all over himself in his haste.

“Lucky bastard,” Jack grumbles, wiping his mouth and passing the water to Harwin. “This is the third box we’ve had to haul back whilst he sits pretty down there.”

Gendry hums, looking over to where the other boxes have been left. They all have multiple locks on them, and they look reinforced, too, like it would take more than dropping them from a height to break them open.

“Think the Sheriff's finally gotten tired of us stealing his taxes?” he says, raising an eyebrow. Taxes are usually shipped out in cloth bags, which makes the Brotherhood’s job that much easier.

Jack snorts. “Looks like,” he says. “Or, Tywin has anyway. I doubt Joffrey would be this smart.”

“Must have run out of money at some point, though,” Harwin adds. “There’s only one more box and the rest is in the bags.”

Gendry frowns.  _ That’s  _ certainly strange. Maybe the Lannisters hoped the locks would protect at least a portion of the taxes, but that doesn’t make any sense. He’s got a bad feeling about those boxes, but he supposes he can’t do anything about it until they’re open.

“Found any keys?”

“One of the guards was carrying a bunch,” Jack replies. “We’ll bring ‘em back with the next lot.”

Gendry nods absently, tuning them out as they start up another round of moaning. “Day’s getting on,” he reminds them, focused on the boxes.

Harwin and Jack grumble but heft the box back up, taking it to the others. Gendry spares one last look after them and then heads off to find Arry. Maybe, she’ll know more about these strange boxes; it occurs to him that she probably hears more than they do.

Besides, he should probably check on her anyway. Not that she can’t handle herself, but he can’t deny being concerned. He doesn’t think her attack on Lannister was just out of a lack of patience.

In the end, it doesn’t take long to find her. He’s only about five minutes away from the clearing when he hears yelling coming from the trees up ahead. He breaks into a run, pulling his hammer from his belt as he crashes through the forest, only to skid to a sudden stop as he sees… Nothing.

Or, rather, it’s just Arry. There’s a tall branch stuck upright into the ground with her cloak hung over it to create a sort of dummy and she’s attacking it with a surprising ferocity. Gendry watches open-mouthed as she turns and stabs and pivots in a fluid, terrifying dance. Her hair, cropped short at her chin, sticks up in every direction, wind-tousled and wild, and her grey eyes flash with something dangerous and dark.

_ She’s beautiful, _ he thinks unbidden, startling himself. And… Well, she  _ is _ , but he can’t be thinking like that. He  _ can’t _ .

Before he can think on it any more, Arry turns. Suddenly, her sword is pointing at Gendry instead of the dummy. She’s too far away for it to do any good which is a definite improvement, but -

“Seven hells!” Gendry explodes. “Next time, you could just say ‘hello’!”

“What do you want?” she asks flatly, sheathing her sword.

Gendry scowls. “Do you happen to know anything about -”

He cuts himself off as she walks towards him, a noticeable limp in her step. There’s a clear pallor to her features and one of her hands has drifted towards her abdomen. Towards her wound -  _ fuck _ . He’d completely forgotten about it, and there’s no way it’s healed properly, especially with everything that’s happened.

She stumbles as she walks, and Gendry lunges to catch her, guiding her to the ground. She tries to pull away from him, but he is far stronger, especially in her weakened state. She glares at him as he crouches down next to her, but he’s more relieved than put-out by her defiance. 

“Can I see it?” he asks, his hands hovering awkwardly by her abdomen. She watches him warily for a moment and then gives a curt nod, pulling her shirt out from her breeches. 

His fingers ghost over her skin, peeling aside the makeshift bandages.The wound, thankfully, doesn’t look worse than yesterday, though that’s not saying much seeing as yesterday it was bleeding everywhere. Thoros’s stitches have held up fairly well, but Gendry thinks he’ll still get him to look at them later, once they’ve finished with Lannister. It doesn’t seem as though there’s any danger of infection either, which is a blessing.

His hands linger longer than perhaps is necessary and he doesn’t think he imagines the way she shivers at his touch. He meets her eyes, grey on blue, blue on grey, and for a moment, everything is still. They are the only two people in the forest, and the forest is the world, and - 

Her eyes flicker away.

“Are you done?” Arry demands, though she doesn’t wait for an answer before tugging her shirt back down. She does remain seated though, which is…unexpected. The silence stretches out long between them, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite relaxed either. He can’t get the image of her out of his head, the way she had looked in those seconds, the slight part to her mouth, the hair curling across her cheek.

“How did that happen?” Gendry asks, forcing himself back into the present. He’s expecting a sharp rebuke, but it doesn’t come.

Arry shrugs. “I’ve got enemies.”

“Right, but was it a guard, or…”

“A guard would be lucky to touch me,” she scoffs. “It was someone else. Don’t worry though, they’re not going to show up here to finish the job.”

Gendry starts. He hadn’t even considered that was a possibility, but now she’s said it, it feels as though her attacker is about to jump out from the trees. “How can you be sure?” he asks, glancing around nervously.

“She’s dead.”

“Oh.”

Another silence, this one worse than the last. It’s strange, Gendry realises, to have such total silence. The Brotherhood are never quiet, always talking about something, or planning, and even when they’re sleeping someone will snore which invariably leads to a round of yelling. Normally, Gendry’s wishing for a little bit of peace and quiet, but he can’t stand this, not when there’s a million questions running around his head.

Fuck it. “What did you attack Lannister for, in the cave?” he asks.

She looks at him as if he’s stupid. “He’s a Lannister.”

“Yeah, but…” Gendry pauses, chewing on his lip. “You could have done that at any time, but it was only when he started talking about Joffrey and Tywin getting angry over you.”

He waits, watching as Arry purses her lips. She pulls her sword onto her lap and brushes her fingertips along the blade, up and down, up and down.

“I have...interests in the citadel,” she says eventually, hands stilling. Her gaze has gone far away, perhaps thinking of these  _ interests  _ she has in Riverrun.

Gendry wracks his brain trying to parse the meaning of her words but he comes up empty. Unless…  _ Oh. _

“The carriage,” he surmises. “The day we first met. When you came back to our camp and told us there was no gold in it.”

This time, her look is of clear surprise, and Gendry can’t help a little offence. He might be low-born and unable to read, but he’s not  _ stupid _ . Slow sometimes, maybe, but not stupid. He can’t protest the point, though, because her eyes are scrutinising him, an unexpected vulnerability in them.

“That carriage,” she starts slowly, still looking at him closely. “It was transporting someone from Casterly Rock to Riverrun. A prisoner.” She turns away from him, bowing her head to hide some sudden emotion. “It was my sister.”

Gendry’s eyes widen and his jaw drops open. “Y-Your sister?” he splutters. “Who - I mean, why - I mean, you could have told us! We can help you rescue her, what’s her name?”

Arry’s jaw clenches and she shakes her head, staring back down at her sword. “My name…” she says eventually. “It’s not Arry.”

Gendry frowns. He’d figured this already and, besides, he doesn’t see what relevance this has to her sister.

“It’s Arya.” She breathes out shakily then looks directly at him, grey eyes boring into his own, scared and strangely trusting. “Arya Stark.”

Stark… The name sounds familiar, important, but Gendry can’t quite recall where he’s heard it before. He casts his mind back, trying to remember. It’s nothing to do with Joffrey, so Robert maybe? Stark. 

_ Stark, holy shit - _

“You’re the old Hand’s daughter, the one who got killed for Sheriff Baratheon’s death!”

“He didn’t do that,” Arry -  _ Arya -  _ cuts in sharply. Gendry ignores her, shaking his head in disbelief. No-one had believed that shit about Lord Stark anyway.

“And you… You’re highborn. You’re a  _ lady _ .” He stops short, his mind reeling. The idea that this small, scruffy, terrifying woman could be a lady, well. Gendry has heard the rumours, but he’d never really put much stock in them. “I - I should be calling you m’lady.” 

_ “Don’t  _ call me that.”

He can’t help but laugh at her rebuke. “As m’lady commands.”

Her shove knocks him sideways, right off the rock he’s sitting on. He grins up at her and her glare morphs into something softer, a tentative smile beginning to creep onto her face. He goes to say something, but the sudden sound of feet running towards them has them both leaping upright.

“Don’t say anything,” Arya implores, just as Tom appears, wheezing, in front of them.

“Have...to come back...to camp,” he says, coughing. “Boxes...open.”

Tom doesn’t get another word out before Gendry runs past him. He  _ knew  _ there was something wrong with those boxes,  _ knew  _ they had something other than taxes inside them. He can hear Arya and Tom close behind him, but Gendry doesn’t slow down until he’s back at the camp. He shoves past his brothers to get to the box, dropping to his knees next to it and reaching in to grab one of the jars.

_ “Shit.”  _ His face goes slack, staring in horror at the substance inside the jar. He knows exactly what this is; the situation must be so much worse than any of them feared if the Lannisters are using this.

“What is it?” Arya asks, peering over his shoulder. 

Gendry grimaces, swallowing thickly, the liquid in the jar bathing his hands in a sickly green glow. 

“It’s wildfire.”


	3. wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wildfire changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a shorter chapter today! thank you guys for your support so far!

The boxes of wildfire have been moved to the back of the cave, where it is damp and cold enough that Gendry is almost certain it won’t spontaneously catch fire.  _ Almost  _ being the, slightly terrifying, operative word, but he doesn’t particularly want to think about the chances of the entire cache exploding. He’s got enough of a headache as it is.

“It has to be new,” Thoros murmurs to Beric over food that night. “Old wildfire has to travel at night, else it would just get set off by the heat.”

From where he’s sat, Gendry is just close enough to hear their conversation. He strains to listen but keeps his eyes focused on his bowl. 

Beric hums in agreement. “Which means that the Lannisters must be plotting something big if they need a substance as drastic as wildfire.”

It takes everything in him to keep from rolling his eyes. Gendry respects Beric, but Tywin’s plots have been escalating for years now. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that wildfire means danger.

“You don’t think…” Thoros’s voice lowers further, and Gendry really has to work to hear his next words. “You don’t think Tywin’s going to move on King’s Landing, do you?”

“I don’t think anything just yet,” Beric says, but his tone is too resigned for it to be quite the truth. “But it would seem to be the most logical path. Especially with the rumours that the war in Essos is nearly done; this might be his last chance.”

Beside him, where she’s apparently also been listening to the entire conversation, Arya snorts. Gendry turns to her, eyebrows raised, but she just shakes her head.

“You’re idiots if you think the war is almost over,” she says, raising her voice and drawing the attention of the entire Brotherhood.

“How would you know that?” Gendry demands, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that tells him he should be more polite when talking to a lady.

“Because I’ve been there, stupid,” she answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He blinks at her, his brain too full of the day’s revelations to even begin to process this one, which causes her to roll her eyes. “I wasn’t safe here. I went there to train and came back two years ago when the organisation I was with kicked me out for breaking their rules.”

Right. Because her last name is Stark and they were about as welcome as rats after Robert’s death. Because her father was executed and the rest of her family killed or kidnapped.

“I don’t know much about the war,” she continues, pre-empting his next questions, “but Aegon and Daenerys seem fairly evenly matched in terms of support. He has the Golden Company; she has the Dothraki and Unsullied. I doubt either of them will come back to Westeros anytime soon, though. The people don’t know them besides their last name, and another Targaryen monarch will hardly go over well.”

Before now, Gendry had assumed that anyone was better than the Lannisters, that the entire country would welcome the victor of this war back with open arms if it meant they would release the strangle-hold Tywin has had on the country since Aerys’s death. He hadn’t even thought…

But, of course, she’s right. Even the common people knew and feared Aerys Targaryen’s madness. The relief when he died was palpable, even if it did mean that, as the king’s closest advisor, Tywin Lannister would be regent until his daughter came of age. And, with the sudden emergence of another supposed heir, and the beginning of another war, Gendry supposes it would be easier to just accept the way things are. 

Besides, it’s not like the whole of Westeros is suffering. It’s only really the Riverlands, and Harwin has told them how the Boltons picked the North apart until little remained. 

It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that their little world of Sherwood and Riverrun isn’t actually the entire world. 

“Oh,” is all Gendry has to say, which earns him another snort from Arya. Beric purses his lips and Thoros, clearly irritated by Arya’s interruption, glares at her before they return to their discussion.

“My turn,” she says, pulling his attention away from them. “How do you know so much about wildfire?”

Gendry points to Thoros with his spoon. “That idiot used to set his sword on fire with it. Pissed my master off no end ‘cause he had to keep making new ones for him. We weren’t actually allowed near the stuff because, you know, the heat, but we ended up learning loads about how it works.”

Arya looks almost impressed, which ignites a sort of warmth in Gendry’s chest. It strikes him suddenly how beautiful she looks in the light of the fire, her cheeks stained a rosy red and her brown hair like coal. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, however; to his left, Beric stands and calls for the Brotherhood’s attention. 

“As you all know, today we found a cache of wildfire which was being transported along the River Road into the Westerlands,” he starts. “We must assume that it’s intended destination was Casterly Rock, and that the Lannisters will be sending similar caches to their allies elsewhere. We all know that Joffrey’s actions in the Riverlands have not endeared him to the people; Tywin Lannister knows this also, and it is my guess that he is planning to take King’s Landing for good to solidify his power base.

“The use of wildfire will cause levels of destruction unheard of for many years. Just as it has been our duty these past years to take care of the poor through stealing from the likes of the Sheriff, so it is now our duty to stop whatever is happening and topple this regime for good. Now -”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” Lem asks. All eyes turn to him, but he doesn’t back down, gaze boring into Beric. “The Sheriff and Tywin Lannister both now we patrol the River Road; why would he deliver such a prize right into our laps?”

There are a few murmurings of agreement around the camp, and even Gendry finds himself conceding the point. Right on cue, however, Arya scoffs and stands.

“Do you lot  _ ever  _ leave these woods?” she says. “They’ve tried to bypass Sherwood before, but the River Road is the only safe route to Casterly Rock. Everywhere else is plagued with bandits who, trust me, would not be keeping that wildfire tucked away in some cave. Their best bet was to send it through here and hope you wouldn’t find it.”

Gendry sends her a small smile as she sits back down but she ignores him. He doesn’t mind though, not really. Honestly, at this point, he thinks that a smile back would be more concerning than the silence. 

There are a few dark looks sent Arya’s way and another round of grumbling starts up, but Gendry is grateful for her presence. Normally, arguments over plans - even the simplest ones - take far too long to resolve. If Arya keeps shutting them down before they can even start, Gendry thinks he might actually get to sleep tonight.

Beric, too, seems grateful as he turns back to the group. “Tomorrow, we’ll travel to Riverrun. If, as we suspect, the Lannisters are planning to utilise wildfire, we need to know how much they’re producing, which means a group will have to infiltrate the castle. Any volunteers?”

Gendry realises what’s about to happen a split second before it does. Even so, his heart still sinks into his stomach as the first voice pipes up.

“I’ll go,” Arya says, her eyes daring the Brotherhood to challenge her. “Alone.”

Gendry closes his eyes and stares into his half-eaten bowl of stew, tuning out the yelling of his brothers. A wave of dread fills him, his entire being rebelling at the idea of Arya going into danger alone. She’s done it so many times in the past, he knows this, but she has the Brotherhood - she has  _ him  _ \- now. He can’t forget the sight of her stumbling into their camp, bloody and worn, and  _ gods _ , that was only a couple of days ago, how the fuck will she manage this?

He’s brought back by a hand on his arm. He looks up to see Arya watching him, an unreadable expression on her face, one Gendry would say is almost apologetic, if he didn’t know better. It quickly morphs into determination as she turns to the Brotherhood, the shouting having died down without Gendry’s notice.

“It’s difficult to get into the castle unseen,” she says. “They’ve upped the number of guards recently and everyone is checked at the gate. It would be impossible for a group to get in. Even if you did manage it, Riverrun is a maze. There’s no chance you could find the wildfire without being caught. I can.”   
  


She takes a deep breath and looks to Gendry, then sets her shoulders and draws herself up. “I know the castle. I spent months there some years ago and I know all the ways to get in and out unseen.”

Gendry follows her gaze as it resettles on Harwin, and he realises what she’s about to do. He knows that this must hurt her, untrusting of them as she seems, but, looking at her, Gendry thinks that she’s never appeared more powerful.

“My name is Arya Stark,” she says. “I’m going alone. Anyone who wants to stop me is welcome to try.”

A silence follows her words, broken swiftly by a choked sound from Harwin’s direction. He slowly rises to his feet and makes his way to her, peering deep into her face. Whatever he sees, he must recognise because his face goes slack with surprise as he takes her in.

“Gods be good,” he whispers hoarsely. “Arya Underfoot. Is that you?”

Arya actually  _ laughs _ , albeit brittle and harsh. “It’s me,” she says, in the small voice of the girl she must have once been.

* * *

It only takes an hour to two to work out a plan, which is faster than Gendry expected given that all of his brothers seemed to have one complaint or another to make. Beric weathers them all deftly, though, and the plan is simple enough. Arya is to slip into the castle and find the wildfire, see how much they had, and then get back out again. She’s also taking a ransom note for Tyrion Lannister which she’ll leave somewhere conspicuous enough to get Tywin’s attention.

It’s simple. Easy, for someone as skilled as Arya. 

Gendry doesn’t like it one bit. 

He passes the next few hours sitting against a tree near the mouth of the cave. He’s supposed to be making sure Lannister doesn’t go anywhere, but mostly he’s been watching Arya as she converses lowly with Beric and Thoros. Harwin, from under his own tree, has been doing the same, though Gendry suspects it’s for entirely different reasons. Harwin has just reunited with a girl he helped to raise, a girl he thought dead for eight years. 

As for Gendry, well, he doesn’t know exactly why he’s doing this. It’s just, they’re the same, he reckons. And… He likes her in a way he can barely bring himself to even try to understand. He’s not sure he wants to understand, in all honesty.

The conversation ends and Gendry abruptly tears his gaze away, lest he be caught. In his periphery, he sees her moving closer, so he’s not surprised when she flops down next to him. He sneaks a glance over, but she’s looking at the sky so he does the same, watching the clouds creep across the moon.

“Looks like it might rain,” he ventures.

“Good.”

“There’ll be less people in the city.”

A loud thud brings his attention back down. In the scant moonlight he can just about see the golden hilt of Arya’s dagger quivering, buried in a tree some feet away from them. 

“I can handle myself,” she says and then gets up to fetch it. Gendry just watches, huffing out an incredulous laugh. The dagger is perfectly central - how she managed that in the dark, he’ll never know. Still, her abilities aren’t the issue.

“Sorry,” he gets out when she’s back next to him. “I’m just not used to waiting behind.” Or, something like that, anyway. 

Arya hums, clearly unconvinced. He doesn’t blame her for that; he’s not convinced either. “It’s the best way,” she says. 

“Right. But, you were stabbed and I don’t want you to get hurt again.” She looks at him sharply, and Gendry hurries to cover up his mistake. “I mean, you’re one of us now, right? We protect our own. And I can’t help but think that you’re going to do something reckless and stupid like try and find your sister but nobody will be there to back you up if things go wrong and  _ I don’t want you to get hurt. _ ”

Gendry has to force himself to stop talking, his jaw cracking with the effort it takes to keep it shut. He can’t stand to look at her any longer, can’t stand to face the consequences of everything he just let loose. This is the moment, he knows, where she decides she can’t trust him after all, the moment where he ruins everything by failing to hide everything he shouldn’t feel. He closes his eyes and waits for her to scoff and leave, to realise she’s better off alone.

Except she doesn’t. Except she shuffles closer so that they’re touching shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. Except, when he looks at her, her expression is not pitying or disgusted, but understanding.

“I’ll be fine,” she says softly, steadily holding his gaze.

“I know.”

“I’m still going.”

“I know.”   
  


She nods, but doesn’t look away. Nor does Gendry. And this, he’ll realise later, is the moment he falls in love with her - these few seconds of shared understanding, a silent promise of trust.

“Get some sleep, Gendry,” she says, shifting into a more comfortable position.

And he does.


	4. discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya leaves early the next morning.

Arya leaves early the next morning whilst most of the Brotherhood are still sleeping. Outside of Thoros and Beric, only Gendry and Harwin are awake - Harwin because he (purposely, Gendry suspects) took the last watch of the night, and Gendry because at some point while they were sleeping, he and Arya had ended up leaning against each other.

(They don’t speak about it when they wake, him jolted by her movements. Gendry flushes a deep red when he realises.

“You drool in your sleep,” is all she says before walking away, leaving him to stare after her.)

He has to laugh, watching her roll her eyes as Beric goes over the plan with her again. But, the unease is only growing in his chest and part of him wishes he’d just slept through the whole thing. It would have been easier, he thinks.

“Good luck,” he offers as she checks her weapons. She flashes him a rare smile, then pulls on her disguise. 

They hold each others’ gazes for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she turns and runs out of the clearing, all too soon swallowed by the forest. Gendry watches after her anyway, trying to catch a quick glimpse between the trees, but she’s gone.

He sighs and turns away, figuring he ought to make himself useful, only to find Thoros staring at him with barely disguised contempt.

“What?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Waters?” Thoros demands.

_ “What?”  _ Gendry repeats. But Thoros just shakes his head in disgust and walks away, leaving Gendry more confused than ever. He scowls, his tolerance for Thoros low even at the best of times, and heads in the opposite direction, towards the fire and Harwin.

“Can I help?” he asks brusquely, gesturing to the...animal Harwin is carving up. Gendry isn’t sure what it is, but he doesn’t really care either; since he was young, he’d learnt to just be grateful to have anything edible, and not to question where it came from.

Harwin looks surprised by the question, which Gendry can’t exactly blame him for. It’s not like he’s shown any willingness to help with the cooking before. 

“Uh. Okay.” Harwin passes him a rat, clearly fresh. “Caught it last night. Don’t tell the others; the way some of them act over food, you’d think they’d been living like lords their entire lives.”

Gendry grunts. “Some of them have. You included, I’d imagine.”

“Aye,” Harwin sighs. “Though winters are hard in the North. The Lords Stark were kind, but oftentimes the household had to eat rats and the like. Only the family got the good meat during winter, when it was available.”

Gendry is silent. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to be dragged into a conversation. He’s not good at talking and, although he’s spent a few years around these men, he can’t say he goes out of his way to know them. He can probably count on one hand the number of conversations he and Harwin have shared, most of them over strategy or plans.

Harwin, it seems, has different ideas. “Never thought I’d see any of them again,” he murmurs. “The Starks, that is. After I heard how Lady Catelyn and Robb were killed trying to defend Winterfell, I assumed they were all gone. What are the chances little Arya Underfoot would turn up again, in our camp of all places?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, going back to his chopping. Gendry debates staying silent - maybe Harwin would get the message this time. But, this is an opportunity, he realises. He wants to learn about her oh so desperately.

“Why do you call her that?” he asks, curiosity winning out. “‘Underfoot’?”

“She was always getting in the way of the cooks and stablehands and guards at Winterfell,” Harwin replies. “More wild and unruly than the rest of them put together, she was.”

Despite himself, Gendry laughs. “Sounds about right,” he says. 

“I should have realised who she was sooner,” Harwin admits. “She’s the image of her aunt Lyanna, though I was only little more than a boy when she died. Still, she has the Stark look. Eight years is not long enough to forget.”

Gendry shifts awkwardly. What can he even say to that? That eight years is plenty of time to forget a person’s face - that it was enough for him to forget his own mother?

Somehow, he doesn’t think it would help.

He’s saved by his brothers beginning to stir. Gendry’s rat is still pretty recognisable, so he has to hurry to finish skinning it before any of them notice. Harwin offers him a quick ‘thanks’ once he’s done and takes the carcass from Gendry, passing him a stick to stir the broth with.

“Seems like you know her better than I do, though.” 

Gendry stops stirring and turns to Harwin, gaping openly. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he demands, but he just gets a raised eyebrow in answer.

“Come on, Waters,” Harwin says. “I was up half the night, you think I didn’t see you?”

Gendry flushes. “That was an accident.”

“There were plenty of other trees,” he points out. “And, last night. You were the only one who wasn’t surprised at her little revelation. You knew.”   
  


“So what if I did?” Gendry can feel his temper beginning to rise now; he does his best to squash it down, but he’s never been very good at that.

Harwin doesn’t take the bait, instead treating him to another raised eyebrow. “You’re not a fool, Gendry. You know damn well she wouldn’t have told the rest of us had the choice been hers.”

“That doesn’t - You don’t - Fuck off,” Gendry stammers. Never let anyone say he can’t be eloquent.

Frustrated and confused, Gendry sets the stick down. “Fire needs more wood,” he grunts, then sets off into the forest. The others are all up by now, and some of them throw him strange looks, but Gendry is all out of patience with the lot of them right now. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what Harwin was trying to get at, and he doesn’t particularly want to figure it out either.

(He ignores the part of him that says he knows  _ exactly  _ what it was all about. The part that says maybe Harwin has a point. He  _ doesn’t _ .)

(Still, he doesn’t stop himself watching the direction Arya disappeared in, waiting, hoping for a sign of her.)

* * *

The sun is high in the sky and Arya still hasn’t returned, Gendry only growing more anxious with every second that ticks by in her absence. Jack has been watching the road all day for travellers to rob (or more wildfire to confiscate) but it’s been infuriatingly quiet.

There is the small issue of risking Arya’s return if they leave camp, but Gendry is itching for someone to take his frustrations out on and a wealthy lord or merchant would do just fine. It’s at times like these that he misses his blacksmithing. Nothing is better than the ring of hammer on steel or the sweet ache in his muscles after a long day.

It’s not until the afternoon is tipping into evening that there is finally -  _ finally -  _ movement from the treeline. Gendry is instantly alert, a relieved sigh leaving him as he spots a masked figure running towards him. 

“You’re alive,” he says as she reaches him, a small smile creeping onto his lips. His relief quickly dies, though, when she pulls her disguise off, revealing her blood and soot-streaked face. He just barely manages to resist the urge to reach out to wipe it away, scanning her for any sign of (further) injury. “What happened?”

“Later,” she dismisses, trudging down into the camp. “Got any food? I’m starving.”

She helps herself to the leftover broth from that morning, ignoring the Brotherhood gathering around the fire, watching her expectantly. 

“Well?” Thoros demands. Arya continues to ignore him, scraping the last vestiges of her meal before looking up.

“They’ve got about a hundred, two hundred bottles,” she says, her tone almost bored. “Looks like they’re making more, though.”

Gendry’s brothers begin to murmur to each other, Jack’s voice rising above them. “They’ll probably be sending out more shipments soon, we won’t be able to stop all of them. We’re fucked.”

Arya shakes her head, unperturbed. “Wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Why?” Gendry prompts, though he already has an idea of what she means, eyes going to the soot on her face.

“Funny thing, wildfire,” Arya says, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. “Difficult to put out. I might have...accidentally spilt some on their transport wagons.”

Gendry laughs, though he’s the only one who does. Harwin seems to be fighting down a smile, as does Anguy, but Thoros looks apoplectic and even Beric is disapproving.

“Do you understand how dangerous that was?” Thoros says. “You could have killed everyone in the city.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “I’m not stupid. No-one else got hurt.”

Some of the others don’t look convinced. For his part, though, Gendry can’t stop thinking about the havoc she must have caused, about how furious Tywin and Joffrey must be right now. All their plans, ruined - or, at least, disrupted. He starts laughing again which earns him several annoyed looks, but he doesn’t care. 

It’s all worth it, anyway, when Arya smiles at him, bright and real, and it feels as though nothing else matters.

* * *

“The Lannisters won’t waste time,” Beric says around the fire later that night. “They’ll be rebuilding their transport as we speak, so it is imperative we begin the next stage immediately.

“The Night Watchman, Lady Stark, has delivered our ransom note; we must hope that Tywin and his personal guard will meet us tomorrow on the River Road to exchange Tyrion Lannister and the wildfire for the remaining tax money.”

“What if he doesn’t come?” Anguy pipes up, to the murmured agreement of the others.

“He will,” Beric replies, no doubt in his tone. “The wildfire is far too important, and we all know Tywin Lannister will do anything to protect the Lannister name. His son being kidnapped by outlaws hardly looks good.”

“We can’t just give the wildfire back to them though,” Jack says.

Thoros shakes his head and takes a swig from his wineskin. “We’re not going to. But, seeing as you’re so interested, you’ve just volunteered to dispose of it tomorrow.”

Jack splutters and looks to his brothers for back-up, but none is forthcoming. Gendry just rolls his eyes. 

“We’ll split into three groups,” Beric cuts in, before Jack can start arguing again. “One will take the wildfire to the mines we shut down some months past. The shafts are deep enough that setting it off down there shouldn’t do too much damage, and the surrounding area is deserted anyway.

“Once they’ve completed their task, they’ll come to meet the second group so that we surround Tywin and his guard. He is going to enter this meeting with intent to kill us, so we must do the same for him. Tywin Lannister will not leave this forest alive.”

Beric pauses to take a breath, and his eyes move to Arya. “The third group has the hardest and most important job. You are to infiltrate Riverrun, clear it of civilians, and blow it sky-high.”

A long silence follows Beric’s words, and Gendry finds himself just as confused as the rest of his brothers. 

“How - How the fuck are we supposed to do that?” he asks, eyes wide.

It’s Arya who answers though, her face unusually pale in the firelight. “Wildfire,” she all but whispers. “You want us to use the wildfire against them.”

Beric nods grimly. “Take it and place it in strategic locations around the castle. Once you are out, Anguy will set it alight with flaming arrows. Joffrey and his entire army will be dead. If all goes to plan, almost every Lannister will be gone by sunset tomorrow.”

* * *

Arya shares his tree again that night. He takes comfort in the sound of her breathing next to him, in the solid touch of their bodies against each other. The silence between them is tense, though; he waits quietly for her to speak, to tell him everything she didn’t want to say in front of the whole group.

“I couldn’t find my sister,” she says. “That’s why I came back so late.”

“Arya, I’m sorry -”

“She’s not dead,” she interrupts, glaring fiercely. “I’m finding her tomorrow and getting her out.”

“Okay.”

She takes a shuddering breath and pulls her sword across her lap, same as she had before she told him her true identity. “You don’t have to come with me to Riverrun, you know. You’d be better off with the others.”

Gendry shrugs. Beric had said the same thing, but he’d insisted on being with Arya’s group. There are four of them - Harwin is to join Anguy, Gendry and Arya, too.

“I want to,” he says. Arya doesn’t respond, but he feels some of the tension melt out of her. 

“Thanks.” She sighs, her fingers tracing the design on her sword’s hilt. “I didn’t find my sister,” she repeats. “But I did find Joffrey. He was… He was  _ tormenting _ some birds, and his back was to me, and I just thought how easy it would be to kill him then and there. I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Her hands still on her sword, only to resume their movements a second later. “We have a plan,” she says. 

Gendry purses his lips. He knows that there’s something else to it. If he had been there, he’s not sure he would have had the same restraint, plan or no plan, and she has more reason to kill the Sheriff than he does. Something to do with her sister maybe… But he won’t push. 

Despite the quiet surrounding them, broken only by the wind and Lem’s snoring, Gendry almost misses her next words, whispered as they are.

_ “I’m going to kill him tomorrow.” _

And there’s something in her voice, so cold and certain, that chills him right to the bone. He can’t explain why - they  _ are  _ going to kill Joffrey tomorrow, that’s the plan - but a now familiar dread settles uncomfortably in his stomach. 

“We should get some sleep,” he says, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “We’ll need to leave before dawn.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move save for her hands on her sword. Gendry refrains from saying more and closes his eyes, willing his mind to stop overthinking. 

Neither of them sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay in updating, i ran into some issues while editing. only one chapter to go!


	5. endings and beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive on the outskirts of Riverrun before the sun has risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the final chapter! thanks to randifrnz for being an amazing beta and thanks to blndraws for the gorgeous artwork which can be found on their tumblr (@blndraws) [here](https://blndraws.tumblr.com/post/623905842601836544)!

They arrive on the outskirts of Riverrun before the sun has risen, only the Watchman - the actual one - traversing the streets. All being well, Tywin Lannister will ride out just after dawn to meet Beric and the others, which will be their opportunity to get everyone out of the city. It sounds so simple.

“How are we going to do this?” Anguy says, putting voice to Gendry’s own worries. “Joffrey’s going to notice if his citizens all start leaving the city.”

“There’s a secret passage,” Arya replies. “It looks like it’s the sewer entrance, but it actually leads to a series of tunnels that run under the city. The Lannisters don’t know about it; it’s how I escaped the first time.”

“Where is it?” Gendry asks, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

“In the marketplace, behind the tavern.”

He nods. “Okay. We’ll go door-to-door. Those closest to the passage, we can gather up now and evacuate. The others…” He pauses to think, all too aware of their eyes on him. Of  _ Arya’s  _ eyes on him. “If Arya and I go to the keep and work with the wildfire, you two can get them out in groups so as not to draw attention. The city isn’t too big, right?”

He looks to Arya who nods, her expression verging on impressed. Gendry has to fight not to smile.

“So you two should be able to get everyone out and meet us before Joffrey can do anything about it.”

Harwin and Anguy exchange a doubtful look. “Not everyone will want to come,” Harwin points out. “They have homes here, work, a livelihood. It’s not easy to leave all of that behind.”

Gendry grimaces; it’s a fact he knows all too well. “Show them your tags. These people should trust us. If they don’t… You’ll have to make them.”

And, okay, it’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best Gendry’s got. They don’t have time to sit here arguing about it for another hour or two, else they’ll lose any hope they have of getting everyone out. 

The others seem to come to the same conclusion, as, after a second more hesitation, they nod over at Gendry. 

“Alright,” Anguy says. “Lead the way, Watchman.”

Arya pulls her face mask up and begins stealing on silent feet down into the city. Gendry and the others follow her, decidedly less quiet, but they don’t appear to attract any unwanted attention. 

Like Arya said, the passage is concealed behind the tavern, pretty much at the centre of the city. It’s narrow, only enough room for people to walk single file, but they can make it work.

Going door-to-door is a difficult process, and it takes far longer than Gendry would like to get through everyone. They split up for speed, with Harwin waiting at the passage to direct people, but, not for the first time, he’s scared that they won’t get around to everyone. 

Even now, with dawn threatening to break any second, Gendry has only managed to convince three families to leave. He leaves them at the passage and checks the sky; it’s getting dangerously light, but he needs to get to one more house. 

Gendry sprints through the winding streets, pushing himself to get one more person, just one more -

A hand closes around his wrist and pulls him into an alleyway, pressing him hard into the brick wall. He struggles, a yell forming on his lips, but a gloved hand clamps down over his mouth.

His hand is halfway into a fist when a muffled voice hisses into his ear, “It’s me, stupid.”

_ “Arya,”  _ he says, or tries to. Her hand is still over his mouth, though she quickly removes it. “What -”

_ “Shhh.”  _ She peers around him, out of the alley. “It’s Tywin.”

The sound of horses thunders past them and Gendry hardly dares to breathe, closing his eyes and praying they’re not found out. 

After what seems like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, the noises stop. Gendry sags against the wall in relief, only to stiffen again as he realises just how close he and Arya are standing, their bodies flush against each other. 

Arya takes a hasty step back, Gendry looking away from her, embarrassed. 

“The Mountain’s with them,” she says, her whisper loud in the tense silence. 

“That’s - good, right?” Gendry asks. 

Arya tilts her head from side to side. “Good for us, maybe. Pretty fucking bad for Beric and the others.”

Right. Part of Gendry had almost forgotten about the rest of the Brotherhood, focused on his role as he is. Arya’s right; Beric was almost killed last time he met Gregor Clegane, and that was before he’d been living in the woods for years on end. Still…

“We can’t think about that now,” he says. “There are still houses to clear.”

But Arya shakes her head. “Not for us. Tywin’s left now, which means we have to get to the keep.”

“But -”

She puts her hand on his arm. “Gendry. Harwin and Anguy will get everyone out. We need to move.”

She’s right. She's right, gods dammit. Gendry hesitates a moment longer, then her grip on his arm tightens and he knows he’d follow her anywhere. 

She leads him back towards the passageway, ducking in and out of alleys to avoid the occasional soldier or passerby. Harwin is there when they arrive, leading a group of people into the tunnels. He meets Gendry’s eyes and nods, gripping his Brotherhood tags. Gendry does the same, and then they leave, slipping into the passage behind the civilians. 

They head in the opposite direction, Gendry’s nerves growing with every step they take. 

“This leads to the dungeons,” Arya says, her voice bouncing off the tunnel walls. “The wildfire stores aren’t far away from there.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes more. Gendry spares a thought for Harwin and Anguy, hoping that they’re still getting people to the passageway and out of the city. 

After a while, Arya glances back at him. “We’re nearly there,” she whispers. “Have your hammer ready, there’ll be guards.”

When they do emerge into what must be the dungeons, the two guards don’t get a chance to react before they’re dead, Arya cutting one’s throat, the other having his head caved in by Gendry. It’s strangely satisfying, in a way that killing probably shouldn’t be. 

Still. They’re Lannisters. 

They have to kill several more on their way to the wildfire stores, and Gendry is breathing hard by the time they make it there. Even so, he gasps when they enter. There are hundreds of jars stacked on shelves stretching into the darkness, too many to count. 

“Seven hells,” he breathes. 

Arya hums in response, standing at his elbow. “Come on,” she says grimly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It’s a long process, figuring out where best to place the wildfire, and Gendry fears at any moment they’ll be caught. 

“Are you sure this will catch?” Arya asks at one point, a sceptical note in her voice. 

Gendry nods. “Wildfire takes flame quickly. Even if Anguy doesn’t quite hit it, the heat should be enough, and one lot exploding should create a chain reaction.”

She purses her lips, but says nothing further, instead going back to their work. It’s not easy and they’re nearly caught several times, saved only by ducking into niches in the wall and killing any guard who crosses their path. 

Their last drop is in a small, seemingly empty room, Gendry’s blacksmithing experience coming in handy with the lock. Except when they finally force their way inside, the room isn’t empty at all. It’s sparsely decorated, the only furnishings a small dresser and a bed, upon which a pretty young woman sits, staring at them with wide, owlish eyes.

_ “Sansa,”  _ Arya breathes, so quiet that Gendry barely hears her himself. 

The woman - Sansa, apparently - opens her mouth to scream, but Arya darts across the room, clapping a hand over her mouth. 

“Don’t scream,” she warns. “We’re here to help.”

Sansa nods, her eyes going to their blood-stained weapons, and Arya carefully removes her hand. 

“Who are you?” Sansa asks, her voice high and trembling. Gendry looks to Arya, but she isn’t saying anything, so he reaches into his collar and pulls out his tags, bearing Beric’s mark. 

“I’m with the Brotherhood,” he says, and Sansa’s eyes go even wider.

“You can’t be here!” she cries, scrambling to the other side of the bed. “Please, just go, please, I -”

“Sansa!” Arya cuts in, drawing her sister’s eyes over. Gendry’s sure that that’s who she is now; if she weren’t, they wouldn’t still be in this room. She’s removed her masks and hood, and there’s a flicker of recognition on Sansa’s face. “Sansa, it’s me. It’s Arya.”

The silence holds for another second before giving way to a loud sob as Sansa rushes to Arya, hugging her tightly. Arya appears somewhat uncomfortable, but embraces her sister too.

Gendry wonders if he should turn away, their reunion feeling too private, but they separate soon enough, Sansa keeping one hand on Arya’s arm. His eyes lock with Arya and, for a brief second, they’re as vulnerable as he’s ever seen her, almost scared, though  _ scared _ is not a word he’d usually associate with her. But it’s gone in an instant, morphing to something Gendry doesn’t like at all.

“Gendry, you need to take Sansa and get out of here,” she says calmly, ignoring Sansa’s protests.

Gendry shakes his head. “What about you?” he demands.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she answers. “I’ll finish with the wildfire and leave, just -  _ please _ . Get Sansa out of here.”

And that makes him hesitate. He still doesn’t understand why they can’t finish the job and leave together, and he’s sure there’s something he’s missing, but…

“Alright,” he finds himself saying. He reaches out and takes Sansa’s hand, separating her from Arya. She resists him with surprising strength, but eventually gives in, allowing him to guide her to the door. He takes one last look back before leaving; she’s already back in her Night Watchman disguise, weapons poised. “Arya -”

_ “Go.” _

And, gods help him, he does.

* * *

It’s been too long. It’s been far too damn long. 

“I have to go back and look for her,” he tells Anguy and Harwin. He’s about to head back to the tunnels when a hand closes around his shoulder, holding him in place. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Waters,” Anguy growls. 

Gendry shakes him and glares. “It’s been too long, we can’t just leave her in there.”

Anguy scoffs. “She’s probably made it out already and took off into the woods. But you are right about one thing.” He bends down to retrieve his bow. “It has been too long. I’m done waiting.” He signals to Harwin, who takes out his flint, albeit hesitantly. Gendry watches in despair. He  _ knows  _ she’s not in the woods, he can feel it.

He wracks his brains to figure out what he’s missing, something that will prove beyond doubt that she’s still in that godsforsaken castle. Something,  _ anything  _ \- 

_ “I’m going to kill him tomorrow.” _

Oh, gods.

“She’s still in there,” he says, eyes wide. “Anguy, hold your fire.”

He grabs Harwin’s arm before he can light the arrow, but he’s shaken off.

“Fuck off, Waters,” Anguy snarls. “We need to do this  _ now _ .”

Gendry sees red. He snatches the bow, just about refraining it from throwing it into the bushes. “I said,  _ hold your fucking fire.” _

He and Anguy faced off, breathing heavily, neither willing to back down. Gods dammit, Gendry knows the mission is important - more important than any of them, but he won’t let Arya die. Not if he can do something about it, and he will. He has to.

Harwin steps between them, a hand held out for the bow. Gendry glares at him. 

“Are you certain?” Harwin asks, eyes hard.

“Certain.” And he is; he can feel it deep within his chest, a horrible truth hammering away in time to his heart.

“Alright.” Harwin reaches out and closes his hand around the bow. “Be quick.”

Gendry gapes at him, and Anguy protests loudly, but Harwin ignores him. He looks pointedly at Anguy’s bow and, after a moment, Gendry relinquishes his grip, turning towards the castle.

“Waters,” Harwin calls after him. Gendry turns. “We won’t wait forever. If you’re too long, we’ll have no choice.”

Gendry nods, then sprints towards the castle. If he dies, then so be it. But he won’t lose her.

He forgoes the tunnels this time, entering the castle through the front gate. It’s swarming with soldiers, but he’s faster than most of them and kills the ones he can’t outrun. The corridors twist round and he swears as he tries to navigate them, getting hopelessly lost in the process. 

His time is running out, he can almost feel it slipping away from him like so much sand, but he refuses to give up, checking every room for a sign of her. There is none, though, and he can feel himself begin to despair of all hope. 

And then he turns a corner and  _ she’s there _ , dead guards at her feet, pushing open a door to an opulently furnished room. Joffrey’s rooms, Gendry guesses. His feet move of their own accord, his arm reaching out to grab her despite her knife in her left hand. He has enough presence of mind to grab her wrist before she can drive it into his stomach, but as soon as he lays eyes on her face (no masks, that’s strange) all he can think is  _ arya arya arya - _

“What the fuck are you doing, Gendry?” she hisses, trying to pull away from him but he holds her fast.

“I’m stopping you from killing yourself,” he answers, surprised at how angry he feels. He’s worried, yes, but also angry at her for keeping her plans from him, for almost getting herself killed for revenge.

“I’m killing  _ Joffrey,”  _ she says, punctuating her words with another tug, this time managing to free herself. She doesn’t go into Joffrey’s chambers, though, instead continuing to glare at him. “I want him to look into my eyes and know that the face of Ned Stark’s daughter will be the last thing he’ll ever see.”

Gendry sets his jaw and glares right back. “Joffrey is going to die whether or not you strike the final blow. “But if you don’t come with me now, you’ll die too.”

Arya scoffs. “I don’t care,” she says, then turns away from him, and  _ he has to do something, he can’t lose her - _

“I do!” he blurts out. She freezes in her tracks and slowly turns to face him, her expression hard as flint. “Seven hells, Arya,  _ I care _ . I care so fucking much, and I think I might even love you, and I will not fucking lose you!”

He’s breathing hard, anger and fear and, yes, love burning in his chest. For several long, agonising moments, she stands stock still, eyes flicking between him and the door.

“You…” She swallows. “Swear to me that you mean that, Gendry.”

“I swear,” he says, and it’s the most honest he’s ever been in his life. She studies him for a moment longer, and she must find some truth in him because she nods slowly and sheathes her knife. 

“Okay,” she murmurs. Then, “Thank you.”

He just nods, words failing him, and they set off back through Riverrun’s twisting halls, Gendry desperately hoping Anguy and Harwin haven’t lost patience with them. 

He’s proven wrong when, just as they’re closing on the gate, an explosion rocks the castle, almost knocking them off their feet.

_ “Shit,”  _ Gendry swears, an arm over his head to protect him from falling debris. There’s a second explosion, this one closer, and it’s enough to urge them back into action, sticking close together as they run. Any soldiers they come across ignore them, which is a relief; they don’t need any more distractions slowing them down.

They make it out just as the building begins to come down, the fire clearly having reached the largest wildfire stash they’d left in the Great Hall. There’s still a fair amount of debris raining down on the city, but somehow they manage to dodge it.

Still, Gendry doesn’t breathe again until they’re safe in the forest. From a ridge overlooking the city, they watch as the castle crumbles into nothing but rubble. Gendry glances over at Arya; she’s watching it happen with a strange, closed expression.

“He’s gone,” she says eventually, her tone measured.

“Yeah.”

“I thought it would feel more…” She shrugs and trails off, hands twisting and grasping at the air.

But Gendry understands. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

* * *

They find their way back to the others, Sansa enveloping Arya in a hug as soon as they appear, bedraggled and exhausted. Harwin claps Gendry on the shoulder.

“Good to see you alive, Waters,” he says. “Sorry about, you know.”

“It’s fine.” Gendry brushes him off. “You did what you had to.”

Harwin sends him a funny look, but Gendry doesn’t care overmuch. He keeps his gaze focused on Arya, sending her a small smile when her eyes meet his. They fall into step together as they trek back to the camp, and Gendry can feel everything he’s wanted to say for so long sitting uncomfortably in his heart.

They don’t talk.

* * *

Beric is dead.

Those who were at the meeting with Tywin Lannister brought his body back to their main camp, along with those of Lem and Tom. It was the Mountain, according to the survivors, who killed them, but Beric dealt him a mortal wound before succumbing himself. 

After the Mountain’s death, Thoros explains, his voice heavy with drink and grief, it was over quickly. Tywin took two arrows to the chest, Tyrion caught a knife in the back trying to escape, and all of their soldiers were slaughtered. With Jaime and Cersei Lannister in the castle with Joffrey, there are now very few Lannisters in the world.

“There’s still a branch at Casterly Rock,” Jack says. “But without Tywin to dictate their every move, they shouldn’t cause any trouble for us.”

“And if they do,” Thoros growls. “We’ll just have to deal with them, too.”

Gendry hums noncommittally at that; he’s not sure that the Brotherhood is what he wants anymore. He looks at Arya where she’s sat talking quietly with Sansa, then down at his tags with the lightning bolt of House Dondarrion carved into them. Gendry had made these, had spent hours carving them for every man in their little gang.

They’ve never felt quite so heavy before.

* * *

The money they have stored away is distributed among the people of Riverrun. Arya says she’s going to track down her uncle, whose father was Sheriff before Robert - she says that he can help them all rebuild their lives. It’s a good plan, and Gendry is studiously ignoring the sharp pain in his chest at the prospect of her leaving. No matter what he’d said back in the castle, he’d never been under any illusion that she’d choose him, and he has to be okay with that. 

So, he keeps his mouth shut and sits under their tree  _ (his tree, now, he’ll have to remember that),  _ closing his eyes and daring to imagine a future where she stays.

* * *

“Sansa and I are going north,” she says. He opens his eyes and stares up at her, uncomprehending. She sighs and kicks him lightly. “Move over.”

He does and she eases down next to him. “We have a brother at the Wall,” she continues. “We’re going to try and contact him, and then Sansa wants to go back to Winterfell. I’ve heard there’s not much left of it, but we can rebuild it.”

Gendry frowns. “Is that not what you want?”

A beat. “It was my home,” she says, a non-answer if Gendry’s ever heard one. He doesn’t push, though. 

He watches her hands picking at the grass, at her brow creased into a frown, and thinks,  _ I’ll miss you.  _

He thinks,  _ I love you. _

He says, “Good luck.”

She hums. “Did you mean what you said back there?” she asks, far too casual for it not to be feigned.

“I swore, didn’t I?”

Arya pauses for a second, then another, then turns to him suddenly. “Come with us,” she says, and Gendry’s eyes go wide. 

“I… What?” He must have misheard, there’s no way she  _ actually  _ asked him to go with her. 

But, “You heard me, stupid. I want you to come with us.”

“Why?” he manages, still not understanding. 

She shrugs, but there’s a teasing smile at her lips. “I suppose you’re just not as irritating as the rest of them,” she answers. Then, turning serious. “I’m not going to stay at Winterfell forever. I can’t, not after...everything.”

“Where will you go?”

“Essos?” she says, lifting one shoulder. “South? Maybe back here. I just...don’t want to do it alone.”

“Oh?” Gendry says, smiling now. “Got anyone in particular in mind?”

She shoves him at that, but doesn’t pull away from him, holding onto his tunic. “Shut up, Gendry,” she murmurs, and her eyes flick down to his lips.

Gendry kisses her, soft and slow, and then more, so much more. When they pull away, she smiles, and Gendry knows in that instant that he’s never going to let her go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! i hope you guys enjoyed!


End file.
